Another, even
more majestic, rose at the end of life. This door in the grey fence
was a solemn, mysterious, and enticing Gateway--into everything worth
seeing.
It was invariably kept locked; it led into the high-road that
slithered along secretly and sedulously--to London. For the children
it was out of bounds. Here the Policeman lived in constant terror of
his life, and here went to and fro the strange world of Passers-by.
The white road flowed past like a river. It moved. From the lower
branches of the horse-chestnut tree they could just see it slide; also
when the swing went extra high, and from the end of the prostrate elm.
It went in both directions at once. It encircled the globe, going
under the sea too. The door leading into it was a quay or port. But
the brass knob never turned; the Gardener said there was no key; and
from the outer side the handle had long since been removed, lest
Passers-by might see it and come in. Even the keyhole had been
carefully stuffed up with that stringy stuff the Gardener carried in
his pockets.
Till, finally, something happened that made the End of the World seem
suddenly a new place.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125